Postern of Fate (Tommy and Tuppence Series) - Agatha Christie [100]
‘And so on. A Continuous Behind the Scenes Picture. It has happened before in history. Doubtless it will always happen: a Fifth Column that is both active and dangerous, run by those who believed in it–as well as those who sought financial gain, those who aimed at eventual power being placed in their hands in the future. Some of this will make interesting reading. How often has the same phrase been uttered in all good faith: Old B.? A traitor? Nonsense. Last man in the world! Absolutely trustworthy!
‘The complete confidence trick. The old, old story. Always on the same lines.
‘In the commercial world, in the Services, in political life. Always a man with an honest face–a fellow you can’t help liking and trusting. Beyond suspicion. “The last man in the world”. Etc., etc., etc. Someone who’s a natural for the job, like the man who can sell you a gold brick outside the Ritz.
‘Your present village, Mrs Beresford, became the headquarters of a certain group just before the First World War. It was such a nice old-world village–nice people had always lived there–all patriotic, doing different kinds of war work. A good naval harbour–a good-looking young Naval commander–came of a good family, father had been an admiral. A good doctor practising there–much loved by all his patients–they enjoyed confiding their troubles to him. Just in general practice–hardly anyone knew that he had had a special training in chemical warfare–in poison-gases.
‘And later, before the Second World War, Mr Kane –spelt with a K–lived in a pretty thatched cottage by the harbour and had a particular political creed–not Fascist–oh no! Just Peace before Everything to save the world–a creed rapidly gaining a following on the Continent and in numerous other countries abroad.
‘None of that is what you really want to know, Mrs Beresford–but you’ve got to realize the background first, a very carefully contrived one. That’s where Mary Jordan was sent to find out, if she could, just what was going on.
‘She was born before my time. I admired the work she had done for us when I heard the story of it–and I would have liked to have known her–she obviously had character and personality.
‘Mary was her own Christian name though she was always known as Molly. She did good work. It was a tragedy she should die so young.’
Tuppence had been looking up to the wall at a picture which for some reason looked familiar. It was a mere sketch of a boy’s head.
‘Is that–surely–’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘That’s the boy Alexander Parkinson. He was only eleven then. He was a grandson of a great-aunt of mine. That’s how Molly went to the Parkinsons’ in the role of a nursery governess. It seemed a good safe observation post. One wouldn’t ever have thought–’ he broke off, ‘what would come of it.’
‘It wasn’t–one of the Parkinsons?’ asked Tuppence.
‘Oh no, my dear. I understand that the Parkinsons were not involved in any way. But there were others–guests and friends–staying in the house that night. It was your Thomas who found out that the evening in question was the date of a census return. The names of everyone sleeping under that roof had to be entered as well as the usual occupants. One of those names linked up in a significant manner. The daughter of the local doctor about whom I have just told you came down to visit her father as she often did and asked the Parkinsons to put her up that night as she had brought two friends with her. Those friends were all right–but later her father was found to be heavily involved in all that was going on in that part of the world. She herself, it seemed, had helped the Parkinsons in garden work some weeks earlier and was responsible for foxgloves and spinach being planted in close proximity. It was she who had taken the mixture of leaves to the kitchen on the fatal day. The illness of all the participants of the meal passed off as one of those unfortunate mistakes that happen sometimes. The doctor explained he